


Lay My Heart Down (with the rest at her feet)

by AvaRosier



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Bondage, F/M, G&G is not a game it's real, Gryphon Queen Betty, Hellcaster Jughead, Pegging, facesitting, sorta mommykink I guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-23
Updated: 2019-09-23
Packaged: 2020-10-26 14:31:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20743754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AvaRosier/pseuds/AvaRosier
Summary: She tosses the harness on the bed, and then the black dildo next to it. He feels the faint bounce across the mattress from the weight of it, and swallows. Betty stands before the bed with her feet shoulder-width apart and hands on her hips. The look in her eyes promises complete mastery.“Because I’m disappointed in you, baby, and clearly I’m going to have to fuck some sense back into you.”(Or: the one where Betty returns home to find her husband absorbed in the latest conspiracy theory and decides he needs to get pegged.)





	Lay My Heart Down (with the rest at her feet)

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by the lovely Toryb! Title from Hozier 'Angel of Small Death & the Codeine Scene'

It’s a foggy morning when she returns home. Tartarus Manor is as foreboding as always, perhaps even more so now that the trees are bare. Crows watch inquisitively from their perches on top of the still fountain in the courtyard as Betty makes her way up the porch steps and through the ornate front doors, smiling at their butler before heading up the curving staircase. The study is in the back, and that’s where she expects to find her husband.

Sure enough, Jughead Jones is hunched over the enormous cherry wood desk, sheaves of papers and book tomes scattered across it. He’s reading over something with one of his perpetual frowns on his face. Betty takes one look at the board behind him—crowded with notes, photographs, and red string—and sighs. 

The sound makes him look up, startled. “Betty? You’re home early.”

She crosses the ornate black and gold rug and rounds the desk to stand before him. “No, my devoted Hellcaster, I’m right on time.  _ You _ , however, don’t seem to know what day it is.” 

Jughead has a tendency to get lost in his research, that wonderful, quick-witted and clever brain of his finding connections no one else has seen before. It’s a source of fascination and excitement to Betty, whose inclination for investigation has finally found an equal, but it is also a source of frustration. He simply doesn’t take good enough care of himself when she’s gone.

At least he has the grace to look chagrined. “You know me,” he shrugs. “I take it you’ve returned from your latest quest victorious?”

“But of course,” she grins as she lets him tug her down into his lap. “The Red Paladin gained Enchantress’ help in foiling Cleaver’s latest stratagem. He’ll leave us in peace for a while, at least.” And now Archie is likely holed up in Veronica’s mansion, repaying the favor she had done them.

Jughead rolls his eyes but smiles as he cups her face, bringing her in for a sweet kiss. At least three years of marriage have seemed to cure him of any residual jealousy about Archie. She sighs again, this time contently—it’s been a long two and a half months. Reluctantly, she parts from him. 

“So, tell me, what have you discovered?”

He sits up straighter in the chair, one arm curved around Betty’s hip to keep her secure as he turns them to face the board. What proceeds to spill out of his mouth makes no sense. Her husband rants about mind-altering potions being added to maple syrup, about another Game Master behind the Game Master, and gestures emphatically as he points to a sketch drawing of the Gargoyle King next to the map of Eldervair.

This is worse than she thought. And there’s only one thing for it.

Gently, she grabs ahold of his chin and insistently turns him away from the board until he’s facing her once more. “Did you even sleep last night?” She asks Jughead, already knowing the answer.

The guilty, but mutinous scowl on his face tells her anyways. “I had to read through a book _ in Latin _ and that took hours. But, Betts, I knew I was on the right path!”

There he goes again, getting all worked up. “Shhh,” she shushes him, placing butterfly-light kisses all over his face: his cheeks, his nose, his forehead, even over the slackening line of his eyebrows. “You know I worry about you. When you get lost like this, you forget to sleep or even eat.” Betty runs her hands over the fine material of his shirt, taking note of the looser fit. “How many nights do you spend in the cot over there instead of our wonderfully comfortable bed?”

“It’s just not the same without you,” Jughead admits, clutching her tighter. Betty kisses him again, this time on the lips, and rests her forehead against his. Slowly, the tension melts from his frame.

“I do know you, Juggie, and I think we both know what you need.” 

She feels the way he goes absolutely still beneath her before he exhales sharply against her chin. 

* * *

As the handcuffs lock around his wrists with a loud  _ clank _ , Jughead reclines against the assortment of pillows clustered around the headboard of their bed and considers how truly fortunate he is to have Betty as his wife.

“Which one should I fuck you with today, the purple or the black?” Betty muses, staring down into the unlocked open drawer that stores their toys. He squirms against the sheets, having already been divested of his clothes by said wife. 

It’s a question of greater than usual significance. The purple has a circumference of one and a quarter inches, and is six-and-a-half inches long; by comparison, the black is another quarter inch thicker and one inch longer. They’ve only used the latter two other times and only when she wants to torment him by taking it slow.

“Any particular reason the black is in play instead of the blue one?” The blue is their go-to, being smaller than the other two, and the preference when they're just reunited and eager to go hard.

She tosses the harness on the bed, and then the black dildo next to it. He feels the faint bounce across the mattress from the weight of it, and swallows. Betty stands before the bed with her feet shoulder-width apart and hands on her hips. The look in her eyes promises complete mastery.

“Because I’m disappointed in you, baby, and clearly I’m going to have to fuck some sense back into you.” 

Jughead swears his erection bobs up and down with trepidation and approval.

“Also, we need to discuss  _ these _ .” Betty reaches down into the deep pockets of her dress and—curse whatever genius thought to add pockets to dresses—pulls out a familiar stack of envelopes. He recognizes the letters he’d sent her via owl while on her quest. She unfolds one and holds it aloft, pointing to a specific line.

“I’m not sure how you thought you’d get away with splitting  _ that _ infinitive with a dangling modifier!”

“That was a proposition, Betty. As in:  _ I  _ want to split  _ your _ infinitive with  _ my _ dangling modifier.” To punctuate his argument, he bucks his hips, making his dick thrust into the air. Ignominious, true, but worth it when his wife gives him a honest-to-gods smirk.

“I think you’ll find that the only one splitting any infinitives today, is  _ me _ .” With that, she tosses the stack down onto the sheets and begins to undress. 

Jughead groans piteously, tugging uselessly at the handcuffs. Betty’s been gone for over two months, which is practically an eternity and he’s barely been able to touch her since she’s been home, compounding the torture of watching her clothes come off without his assistance. 

The frilly white dress is tossed over the back of a chair, followed by her matching bra and panties, all without so much a glance in his direction. He gets to watch as Betty opens up another drawer and pulls out a familiar pair of sheer black stockings, the ones with lace detailing along the top. She makes a show of sitting down and rolling them up over her thighs. Then out come the long black satin gloves.

“Betts…”

“Uh-huh.” She slides her fingers into them, tugging them up over her elbows and then steps up onto the bed, straddling his prone body. Jughead follows the long, toned lines of her legs up to the juncture between her thighs, and his dick bobs at the sight of her pussy. “Who am I?”

“My Queen.”

“That’s right. And what do you do for your queen?”

He reclines further, dropping his head back onto the pillow. “Surrender. Serve.”

He nearly comes from the way Betty bites her lip before lowering herself over his face.

* * *

Evidently smart enough to not incur more of her wrath, Jughead gently captures the hood covering her clit between his lips, and tugs.

It’s…

It’s enough to make Betty lose the train of her thoughts, to be covered in blackness as she closes her eyes and gasps at the low, sweet ache.

Maybe she has miscalculated a bit—he’s always been too talented at this act for his own good. Or ego.

A tongue, hot and wet, licks a stripe up her vulva and Betty grips the headboard tightly as she begins to ride his face in earnest. He lashes at her clit with the tip, she tries to angle her hips away, but he just zeroes back in on her clit and she is less able to resist the siren call of her much delayed orgasm. 

Opening her eyes, she looks down in between her thighs to where Jughead is diligently working her over. His eyes are open, too, and watching her every reaction. Betty moans, rocking her hips harder. It’s an incredibly intense experience, staring into each other’s eyes as she fucks his tongue. She feels a heady rush of power. 

Maybe that’s what does her in, because when Jughead widens his tongue, giving her the broad, wet muscle to grind against, Betty’s entire body tenses. Then he closes his mouth over her clit and  _ suckles _ . Her eyes fly shut, she can do nothing more than wail and ride it out, the muscles of her stomach clenching as she bends over from the intensity of it. But he doesn’t stop, every suckle draws more pleasure out of her, until she’s moaning and ordering him to stop.

Betty practically collapses backwards on top of Jughead’s chest, her entire body flushed from head to toe. Her hips slow to a stop and she’s left breathing heavily, slowly becoming aware of the burn in her thighs from the effort she’d just made. Her Hellcaster lies beneath her, making her rise and fall as he gulps in air. She takes in his shiny lips with satisfaction. 

Eventually, though, the discomfort sets in and she starts to sit up and move off of him, stumbling off the bed. Her legs shake as she steps into the harness, tugging on the straps until it’s secure around her hips. The black dildo sticks out straight into the air and she’s rewarded with the sight of Jughead’s eyes darkening as he takes it all in. Placing one knee onto the bed, then the other, she crawls forward until she’s kneeling in between his spread legs.

“I missed your touch, Juggie,” she murmurs, unscrewing the top of the jar of lubricant and scooping out a fair measure. “I missed fucking you, and you fucking me until I couldn’t walk. So when your letters came, I ripped into them, so eager to touch myself to the erotic words you had written me. You’ve always been so good at making me come with just your mind.”

He hisses as the first gloved finger makes it past the ring of muscles; after the second finger, she can still feel him clenching around her but he is considerably slicker thanks to the lube. Carefully, Betty works him open with a third finger. His erection is red and weeping where it rests against his lower abdomen. Jughead looks so pretty like this, muscles in his arms straining even as he loosens up for her, eyes drifting shut at the sensation. His eyelashes are long and dark against his cheeks.

“But ‘ _ startled breasts _ ’? My breasts are not woodland creatures, Jug. And then ‘ _ the delta-shaped rise of your pudenda _ ’? Do you think that made me come?”

Jughead’s eyes blink open and he gives her a filthy grin. 

“Oh, Forsythe, you naughty, naughty boy.”

* * *

His senses are filled up with Betty: kissing him, touching him, petting him. When she holds up a pillow, he lifts his hips so she can slide it under him. Other pillows are placed on either side of him, so his spread legs will have someplace to rest. When she’s done clucking about him, Betty looks down at the scene before her and nods.

“This is where you belong. You know that, don’t you?”

Something inside him shudders and unfurls.  _ Yes _ , he thinks.  _ Yes, I belong here _ .

“Maybe I should keep you here like this, you would like that wouldn’t you, baby?” She places the lubed tip of the dildo at his entrance and begins the slow, inescapable push inside. 

He groans at the stretch, doing his best to relax. Betty murmurs encouraging words against his lips. Finally, her hips are pressed against his ass and Jughead pants as he tries to adjust to the sense of being completely filled. Experimentally, he bucks his hips and his wife, the minx, chooses to slide out and then thrust hard.

“Fuck!” he cries out, shuddering as he tries to hold himself together. “Fuck, fuck.”

“That’s exactly what I intend to do,” Betty tells him, nipples hard as they graze his ribcage. With her hair curly and loose, and her pupils blown so wide the green of her irises are almost gone. She took on the mantle of the Gryphon Queen after her family left her, one by one. This is for her as much as it is for him.

Jughead holds onto the headboard for leverage as Betty beings to fuck him, clenching down around her cock on every downward stroke. Her breasts bounce and Jughead shivers at the feeling of being splintered open. When she starts to hit something deep in him, stars burst behind his eyelids and he can feel everything but her, and them, fall away. She’s gasping now, every grind of her hips bringing the textured base of the dildo into contact with her clit. He’s so close, he can feel his release building below his belly button.

“May I...may I come, my Queen?” he begs. He doesn’t want this to end, but he needs what Betty can give him.

She slows down, gripping his chin and forcing him to look into her eyes. “Who are you?”

“Yours. I’m yours.”

“That’s right, you’re mine.” One of her gloved hands combs through his hair. “Nobody takes care of you the way I take care of you. Maybe I should take you with me on my next quest. Wouldn’t you like that, hm? I’ll chain you to the bed in my tent and when people come in, I’ll tell them you’re my plaything. They’ll all hear you making little noises as I fuck you—now,  _ come _ , Jughead.”

Betty tugs sharply on his head, and a hundred pinpricks of pleasure-pain radiate from his scalp, making him cry out. A shiver works its way down his spine. Jughead is embarrassed by how much the scenario she just described excites him—it only takes three hard thrusts from her before he’s coming all over his stomach in spurts. 

White-hot ecstasy. Total obliteration. 

He lies there, shaking as Betty fucks him through his orgasm, rocking her way into one of her own. He loses time after that, completely fucked out and sleepy as Betty moves around him. Cleaning him up, unlocking the cuffs, and rolling him over onto his side so she can cuddle up to him. She’s removed the harness as well as the gloves and thigh-highs. It’s just them, naked beneath the covers. Jughead has enough presence of mind to curl an arm around her, holding her close so he can press a kiss to her forehead and weave his fingers into her hair. At least for the rest of today, all obsessions have been forgotten. 

There will always be other conspiracies, other urgent quests. But in the end all that matters is that he has her.

**Author's Note:**

> The bits of Jughead's non-erotic letters come from the twitter account @men_write_women.


End file.
